


Tales From The Dragons' Den

by KaenOkami



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Comfort, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Fluff, Multi, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:32:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaenOkami/pseuds/KaenOkami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This world can be seen from many points of view. Everyone has their own stories to tell." Oneshots set in the Once and Future King universe. Updates will be irregular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Communication

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where it came into my head to give Azula a therapy wolf but I like it and I'm running with it. You should probably read chapter 6 of The Once and Future King before reading this chapter.

~0~  
"A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself."  
\- Josh Billings  
~0~  
I am the leader of the tigerwolf pack, and as leader, my duties are to care for and protect my packmates. There are many other smaller things I have to take care of, but they all fall under those two general categories. 

So when, during my morning patrol of our territory borders (one of said smaller things), I catch a familiar scent carrying down to an area most humans and no tigerwolves normally go, and a feeling in my gut tells me that something is amiss, naturally I must go and investigate.   
Taking a few steps back, I make a running leap over the towering construction of thick interlocking sticks the humans made. It's a difficult jump, but I am large enough (the only tigerwolf large enough) to make it. Initially, the odd setup puzzled me, but I suppose since humans cannot mark any territory by scent, this is necessary for them to do. It's no inconvenience to me, so I don't complain. I land on my paws, hitting the hard earth running. I have no worries about being caught. The sky's many colors are pale and light, but the sun is only barely over the horizon: normally too early for any human to be around our territory. Besides, even if one saw me, it isn't as if I will allow anyone but my human partner to handle me. I wouldn't like it at all if someone else tried, and she wouldn't like that either, and her pack is, if not loyal enough, then smart enough not to displease her that way.

I follow the scent trail through the thick forest, feeling it get fresher and stronger with each stride, until the sharp odor of salt mingling with it hits my nose and I realize I am about to come out and reach the bluffs near the island's coast. This is where my human partner and her young pup often come together, jumping around, attacking the air, bringing their blue and orange fire out of nowhere and throwing it all over the place. I don't see the point of any of this at all, but they seem to enjoy it. 

And speaking of my human...

It's her scent I've been tracking, her lovely scent that is half smoke and half spice, and as it reaches its strongest point, I see her huddling under a small overhang where the sand meets the grass and earth. She's curled up tightly into herself, hugging her knees to her chest and hiding her face in them. Her shoulders are shaking, and I can hear her breath hitching from here. Unfortunately, it's familiar enough that I can tell what it means - my poor human is sad again. 

A whimper escapes my throat. I detest seeing her this way. My human is strong and confident, the leader of her own pack. She is the only one of the human pack I, as a leader as well, will deign to listen to or respect. When I take her on my back into battle against their rival packs, we are unstoppable together. It makes my stomach lurch to see her so upset, and without another thought I sprint out of the forest and across the grass to her. 

She hears the scrape of my claws on the sandy ground and lifts her head to look at me. There's water coming from her eyes and blotches of red on her face; I know by now that that too means something is hurting her. I wish I could understand all the sounds humans make to communicate, so she could just tell me what saddens her so often and I could go and make it stop for good. Then my human would be happy, like her pup. I never see _him_ sad, not the way his mother is.

"Ikari," she says hoarsely when I reach her side. I know that noise, at least. That means me. _Yes, my human, I am here now,_ I want to assure her. Having no other way to get across my intentions, I lean forward and begin to gently lick at her cheeks. They taste of salt, like ocean water. 

Snapping something irritable-sounding that has "Ikari" in it, she jerks back, pushing my head away. I take a small step back, letting out a soft whine at the rejection. I have been through this before, and I know by now that my human is complicated. Whether she wants me here or not, at first she always pushes me away and (I'm assuming) insists that I leave her alone. I don't want to make anything worse, but I decide to press some more. Just a little bit, though, and if she reacts louder or more forcefully I'll go right away and return later to check on her. I must only go as far as it takes to know whether she needs the comforts of contact and companionship or of solitude at the moment.  
I move closer than before, right up next to her, nosing at her face and neck again with little licks here and there. It's the only place my long tongue can reach, with her in that black and gold shell thing she seems to like so much. I don't even know if this is doing her any good, but I am completely in the dark as to how humans console each other. As such, this is the best I can hope to do.

However, this seems to be working.

Little by little, of course. Her body is still tense and her breath still trembles, but this time she lets me show her my affection. She murmurs something in the tone that's a familiar odd mix of fondness and exasperation, and shakily reaches up to put one arm over my shoulders and the other around my torso. Pulling me closer, she holds me tightly to her chest, like a much larger version of her pup and my own. 

"Stay," she mutters, another human noise I know. I feel my tail start waving back and forth at the sound of it: that means she wants me here with her. "Stay."

Now that I know we will be here for a while, I decide to shift into a more comfortable position for both of us. Without pulling my head and chest out of her arms, I slowly lower myself down to the ground. Lying on the short spring grass, I press my body as close to hers as I can and rest my head in her lap. I feel her small, slender form shaking as her hold on me tightens and she buries her face in my thick chestnut fur. It becomes damper by the second, and a sympathetic whimper escapes me. The sound of her cries make my heart twist, but this is what she needs right now, and it is my job as my human's friend and partner to help her. So I lie still, right here, so she can let this all out.

Little as I know about human preferences and the reasons behind them, I am by now certain that hugging a soft, preferably large object will bring comfort to most of them. I haven't yet deciphered why exactly, though I suspect that it is my thick masses of soft fur that soothe my human. Even when nothing is wrong (nothing that I can pick up on, anyway), every time she comes to see me she'll stroke my head and back and sometimes rub my chest. Now that's something we can both get behind, it feels quite nice for all involved...

A sudden loud sob makes me jump, and I feel my human convulsing with the force of it and the ones that follow. It's almost a reflexive motion by now to press my body closer to her, to move my head up to her face, to try and calm her with gentle nudges and tiny licks. Though she’s still upset, I can feel that, her body is gradually relaxing as she vents her emotions. After a couple minutes, she pulls back for a moment to look me in the face. Her eyes are still red and her face still wet, but the corners of her mouth are curved up just a little. From any other creature, this would be a sign of aggression, especially if visible teeth were involved. But in humans (the odd animals that they are), it is meant to send the complete opposite message. It is an expression of friendliness and contentment. The next sounds she makes are the same, the ones I love to hear the most: “Good boy. Good boy, Ikari.”

_Happiness. She’s happy again._ I thump my tail against the ground. _Success._   
~0~


	2. Good Night, Demon Slayer

~0~  
"I won't tell you there's nothing beneath your bed  
I won't tell you that it's all in your head  
This world of ours is not as it seems  
The monsters are real but not in your dreams.  
\- Goodnight, Demon Slayer, Voltaire  
~0~

Damn it, this was not something she should have to deal with.

"Aziru, I don't want to have to tell you again. _Go to sleep."_

Four-year-old Aziru looks up at her from under the covers with the first hint of tears in his big gold eyes. "But, Mama, I can't!" he whimpers, still refusing to lie down.  
Azula closes her eyes and takes a deep, deliberate breath. Fleetingly, she entertains the thought of storming out in frustration and leaving it to someone else to deal with the child, but she waves it away almost as soon as it had. She doesn't really want to frighten Aziru like that (he wouldn't understand why his mother was angry, anyway), and she is perfectly capable of handling this, annoying as it is. It would just require a bit more effort and more out-of-the-box thinking than usual. She'd quickly discovered that children did not operate on normal human logic, and being a primarily logical individual, contending with her young son put her far out of her element. As such, advice from Hashira - a fairly good example as far as parenting went, if little Mikuru's constant cheerfulness was any indication - was invaluable to her. And one thing the general had said was something along the lines of, _If he's upset and you don't understand why, try not to get angry; find out what's bothering him._

"All right, Aziru," she says, making an effort to keep her voice level. "Why can't you go to sleep?"

"There's monsters hiding in my closet! They'll come out if I try to sleep!"

 _For Agni's sake, that's all it is?_ Azula bites back an irritated huff. _Ridiculous._ Her first impulse is to say as much to Aziru, but that would only make things worse, wouldn't it? No, she'll have to take a different route than usual tonight. What was it Hashira had said, when she'd been talking about Mikuru being convinced that one of the officers was planning to sacrifice her tigerwolf pup to the spirits? _A child's fears are real to them. Don't dismiss them as foolish._ As far as she could remember, she had never been afraid of such things. But she had learned early on that the truly frightening things came not from imagination, but from reality. And coming to that, dismissing her child and leaving him alone with his fears sounded unsettlingly similar to something Ozai would have done, and Ursa would never have paid her enough attention to comfort her if she were afraid. And she'd be damned if she repeated the failures of her own pathetic parents.

So Azula puts a gentle smile on her face, and goes to sit beside Aziru on the bed. "Monsters, hm?" she says softly, putting a hand on his small shoulder and hoping she's doing this correctly. "Can you...tell me what they look like?"

"You can't really see them," Aziru tells her earnestly. "They only come out in the dark. But they're bigger than Ikari with big white eyes and teeth that go down past their face. They're really cold and if they touch you you freeze and die." He pauses, running over the words in his head again. "Not _you_ you, though. They don't come out when you're here, or when the candle's going."

"Is that so?" 

"Mm-hm. I only see them when I’m alone. I don’t know why. Uh...I don’t think they like you very much.” 

“It sounds that way,” she agrees. She feels monumentally stupid treating this as if it were a legitimate problem, but Aziru is dead serious about it, so she supposes that there's no other choice. Fortunately, she thinks she knows how she can end it, for good if she's lucky enough. And she can introduce her son to their philosophy on fear while she's at it. “You know,” she begins, “now that you bring it up, I think I can remember having a problem like this when I was younger.” 

It's a blatant lie, but Aziru, none the wiser, believes every word, and looks up at her with interest. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. And I know why your monsters won’t come out when I’m around. I think they’re scared of me.”

Aziru tilts his head curiously. This hasn't occurred to him before. “They’re scared of you?”

 _Yes, that’s what I just said._ “Of course. They know who I am. They know how strong I am, and they know that I’m the one who protects you. If they tried to get to you when I was around - “

“You’d burn them all up!” Aziru exclaims, pumping his fist.

All right, he’s made her smile genuinely, she’ll give him that. "That’s right. That’s why they fear me, even though they’re the big and frightening monsters. In fact...” She leaned closer to Aziru, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “Maybe they think _I’m_ the most frightening monster of them all.”

Her son looks at her with a puzzled expression for just a second before his face splits into a smile. "That's silly!" he laughs. "You're not a monster, you're my mama! Why would they think that?"

"Well, they don't seem to be the brightest of creatures," Azula says airily, trying to ignore how her heart had jumped at Aziru's near-immediate dismissal of the idea. "Really, they're not much of a threat, if you think about it for a minute. I could get rid of them easily if I wanted to."

“So can you do it right now?” Aziru asks. 

She pretends to consider it. “I _could_ do that. But, I don't think I will."

"What? Why not?"

"Because these are _your_ monsters, and it's your job to face them. Ah, ah, ah," she cuts off his protest, putting a finger to his lips. "Don't worry. I'll tell you what you need to do, and all that'll be left is for you to follow my instructions. Understand?" Aziru doesn't look all that sure about this plan, but nods anyway. “Good. Now, like I said, there's no confusion as to who I am, but your monsters don't seem to know exactly who you are. So what you need to do is let them know just who they're trying to intimidate. You are my son, and the crown prince. You’re stronger than they are, just like me.”

“I am?” She nods, and he considers it with interest. “All I have to do is tell them that, and they’ll go away?”

“Exactly. They’ll never bother you again,” she says, intending that to be the last thing she says on the matter. She stands up to go, only to be stopped by a tug on her sleeve. She turns to see Aziru clutching her robe and looking up at her with eyes that were again wide and nervous. 

“Wait! Don’t leave! Uh...I...I’ll talk to them tomorrow,” he says shakily. “Can...Can you stay here tonight? Just until I’m asleep.”

Azula is silent for a moment, thinking it over. She’d thought her job was finished here, but apparently not. She wasn’t entirely sure that she wasn’t doing things completely wrong anyway, despite how smoothly this whole thing seemed to be going. Emotional closeness had never been her strong point after all...But still, this is what Aziru wants (and seems to need, even, from the pleading look on his face) from her, so if she doesn’t stick around at least for a little while she’ll probably pay for it later. And, though she is loath to admit it, her son can give quite effective puppy eyes when he wants to. She’ll have to teach him to consciously utilize that at some point. All in all, she doesn’t think she would leave her child alone here in the dark, even if she wanted to. _Damn maternal instincts._

“All right then. Just this once, then it’s all on you,” she tells him, settling back down on the bed. “Deal?” 

“Deal,” Aziru agrees happily, and without a second’s hesitation he snuggles up to her (either ignoring or not feeling her flinch slightly) and pulls his blanket over himself. He closes his eyes, perfectly content using his mother’s stomach as a pillow, and his breathing grows slow and heavy with sleep within a minute. _Lucky him,_ Azula thinks, his words running through her head again.

Aziru is still just a child, still young enough to be innocent. He had never been really afraid of her, not like anyone she could remember. Since he was old enough to show expression, there had only been love and admiration in his eyes when he looked at her, completely unaware of the cruelty she was capable of and the demons that haunted her day in and day out. Perfectly innocent. And although she has no desire to destroy that innocence - Agni knew Ozai had wasted no time in crushing hers - she knows that, sooner or later, Aziru will find out all of that, when he’s grown older and started to lose his childish naivete. She has to wonder: what will he think of her then? Will fear mix in with the love she’s come to cling to? Would he ever _stop_ loving her? Azula hopes that it won’t come to that, prays to every spirit that her son won’t be like everyone else in her life. Right now, it doesn’t seem at all likely. But still, she won’t be very surprised if it does end up happening.

_You’re not a monster, you’re my mama!_

“Well,” she whispers, caressing her son’s sleeping face. “Who says the same thing can’t be both?”  
~0~  
The next night, when she walks past Aziru’s room, she can hear him behind the door, snarling as threateningly as a four-year-old can at whatever he imagined hid behind his closet door, telling them how he was the prince of the Fire Nation and he was stronger and scarier than any of them, and he’d burn them to ash if they tried to come near him again, and such. She has to suppress her laughter; she doesn’t want him to hear, but she’s glad he’s kept his word and done just what she told him to do. 

When she checks on him a few hours later, he’s sleeping soundly again, with a small smile on his face. So proud of himself - in his young mind, it’s a big thing he’s done. She leaves with a smile of her own, thinking of the day that he will be fearlessly taking out real enemies, older and stronger and following her orders still. She’ll take these last couple of nights as a good sign. Her son will need bravery to fulfill the duties she has given him.  
~0~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Shameless fluff, I know. But the idea was cute and it wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it, especially after hearing the song from the opening quote. It’s basically about a kid being scared of monsters under the bed, and their parent being like, “Monsters? The hell with them, you’re too badass for them to hurt you. You can just kill all of them!” I thought that would definitely be the kind of response Azula would have in that situation.  
> I just realized that this is the first time I’ve written Azula and Aziru’s relationship from her perspective instead of his. I hope she isn’t too OOC.


	3. The Wages of Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Takes place after chapter 9 of the main story, so better to read that chapter before reading this one. Also, the song the opening quote is from has become my go-to song for writing this universe’s Zuko.

_“Who will trade his karma for my kingdom?  
A sacrificial rite to render truth  
The fire in my soul rejects my wisdom  
Because all you do in life comes back to you.”_  
\- _Karma,_ Kamelot

~0~

It’s not until he sees his uncle walking through the doors of one of their family rooms, empty save for him, that Zuko begins to breathe properly again (of course he knows that Iroh can handle himself better than even he can, but still, having him both out of his protection and in Azula’s territory has gotten him just a little bit edgy), and he starts to stand up. “Uncle! How did it - Oh...” he trails off, seeing the disappointed look on the older man’s face, and sinks back down into his chair. “It didn’t go well, did it?”

“No better than I was expecting,” Iroh confirms flatly, taking a seat in the chair beside his nephew’s. “No assassination attempts, at the very least. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know why you still want to try reconciling with her. It is true that we have to do anything in our power to end this civil war, but that option has been off the table for a long time. Your sister has always been impossible. We can put forth as many concessions and peace offerings as we like, and she will still insist, ‘all or nothing.’ She told me she’s come too far to back down to you now, and we both know how stubbornness seems to be a royal family trait.”

Zuko heaves a deep sigh, and for the hundredth time that day runs a hand through his long, mussed hair. “I’m doing the best I can. Why can she never see when I’m trying to help her?” he muses, half to himself.

“Because she has convinced herself that everything you, I, and the rest of our family do is to hurt her,” Iroh replies, trying his best to get the harsh point across as gently as possible. “Ty Lee prevents her from killing her friend, and she sees it as a betrayal. You try to get her the help she needs, and she takes every opportunity to throw it back in your face. We protect her from punishment after the war, we try to make peace, and she plunges us right back into another war.” Seeing the familiar troubled look coming into his nephew’s eyes at his words, he gives Zuko the most sympathetic look he has. “It is not your fault, nephew. It is simply too late for her to redeem herself.” 

“Even so, I don’t regret trying. Not too long ago, anyone could have said it was too late for you, or me,” Zuko insists. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

He remembers the years after the war, when he had made a habit of visiting Azula in the mental facility weekly; if he was going to fix what their family and the war had broken, then he was going to do it correctly and completely. Over time, under the doctors’ care, he had watched her recover, regaining her control over herself and learning about just what it was that had plagued her mind for years, and how she could be treated. Little by little, her broken mind had been (more or less) repaired. But his attempts at repairing their broken relationship had not been successful at all. Over and over, his sister had rejected him, in the first few weeks with furious shouting, then with acerbic insults and accusations, and then finally in the months just before her escape with icy cold indifference. Even now, he is still trying to understand what he was missing, what he had done wrong.

_Maybe you weren’t so wrong,_ his thoughts mock him, _if she came around to you enough to use you in such an enjoyable -_

_Shut up, shut up! It was wrong, you know it was wrong, you know damn well -_

“You did give her a second chance,” Iroh interrupts his rapidly spiraling thoughts, snapping him back to the present. “And she chose to waste it. There is little more we can do to help a person who does not want to be helped, and we certainly cannot prioritize her life or freedom over restoring peace to this nation.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Zuko concedes. _But there had to be more you could have done, and if you had been smart enough to figure it out you would never have ended up in this mess,_ a small, persistent voice at the back of his mind chides him.

“I know it is difficult. You tried so hard, but you must accept that not everyone can be redeemed.”

The last word sparks something in Zuko’s mind, reminding him of the other, unspoken reason he had allowed one of his most valuable and trusted people to enter Azula’s domain. “Speaking of that...Did you happen to see...” The name catches in his throat. “That son of hers?”

At that, Iroh smiles wryly. “Oh, I saw much more than I expected of young Prince Aziru. He’s quite a character, that boy.”

Zuko sits up straighter in his chair, knowing he’s going to hang on his uncle’s every word and have to look as if he’s not as overly interested as he is. The two spies they’d been able to sneak in have encountered the prince before, and reported on his behavior as instructed, but he is a matter of little importance to them and their information on him never fully satisfies the Fire Lord. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, that’s an interesting story,” Iroh says, settling deeper into his chair. “I know that few concrete opinions should be made from a first impression, but one thing I can tell you for certain is, Azula prizes him very highly.”

“Does she?” _Of course she does. She was so eager to conceive him, after all._ “I didn’t think she would be the kind to love even her own child.”

“Apparently she has finally learned that one catches more spider-flies with honey than with vinegar. But more about that a little later. My real concern is...How shall I put this?” Iroh pauses to think for a moment. “What was that nickname Ty Lee gave him when we first heard that he had been born?”

Zuko snorts. Just thinking the stupid name makes him want to burst out laughing, even in such a grave situation as the one the child in question has put him in. _“Chibizula._ Azula in miniature. I don’t know how that ever popped into her head.”

“It is a silly name,” Iroh agrees, chuckling. “But it has proven to be a fairly accurate one, because that is essentially what Prince Aziru is: a smaller, male version of his mother.”  
The smile drops from Zuko’s face. “How...How do you mean?”

“First of all, he has definitely inherited her natural talent, and both of them are well aware of it. Before we began to talk seriously, Azula told me she had something that I would find very interesting, and asked me to accompany her to the courtyard to see it. I agreed, and it turned out that she wanted to show me what an extremely skilled firebender her son is.” He grimaces at the memory. “I did not let anything on - no need to satisfy either of their egos - but he _is_ rather good. The instant she told him to, he went through every single firebending form he knows, from the basic set to the advanced, with no mistakes at all.”

“And I’m sure he liked showing off just for you, right?” Zuko asks, remembering how Azula used to shoot him a smug smirk every time she mastered a new kata.

“Actually, from the look on his face when he turned around and saw me, the boy did not know he was being shown off at all!” Iroh corrected, smiling in spite of himself. “It really was priceless. But back to the point: if he does not surpass Princess Izuna in that area, then he certainly rivals her. To keep Azula from thinking her son could be stronger, I implied that they were fairly equal.”

_A prodigy giving birth to another prodigy. Agni, what are the odds?_ Zuko internally complains. “All right, that was a good move. Go on, what else is there?”

“Well, after the meeting, Prince Aziru took the opportunity to come and meet me himself, and I was able to get a very good insight into his personality. I am sorry, Zuko, but I believe that he will be as impossible to sway as Azula always was.”

“What?” Zuko blurts, startled. _That can’t be true...He’s still so young!_ “What exactly happened? Did he come to yell at you or something?”

“No. He came to me claiming to want to hear from someone with a different perspective than his mother’s, and asked our reasons for doing the things we did. In hindsight, it’s probable that he was lying about that first part.”

Zuko raises his eyebrow. “I don’t know...That’s more than Azula ever did. How did it play out?”

“Not well at all. I tried as best I could to get him to see that you are a good person, and that we are striving to make peace with the other nations in order to benefit our own as well. But he refused to see any of it.”

“Are you sure he _understood_ it, though, Uncle? He _is_ just a child, and your advice tends to be confusing at times even to adults.”

His uncle smiles again, reassuringly this time. “I promise you, I was as straightforward as possible, and he understood what I was saying perfectly well. He is a very intelligent young man, quite mature for his age in some ways, and offered a ready counter to every point that I was trying to make. One wonders why he bothered to start the conversation in the first place.”

“Maybe he wasn’t lying when he said he wanted a different perspective, at least not entirely,” Zuko offers. “Maybe he wanted to test his beliefs against ours, to make sure that his side is the right one.”

Iroh raises his eyebrows, clearly not having considered this angle. “Do you know, I would not be at all surprised if that were true. Though from what I have seen of him, I find it difficult to believe that Prince Aziru would even slightly doubt his convictions, or his beloved mother.”

“So he loves her, then? He isn’t afraid of her?”

“I cannot give you an accurate answer to your second question,” says Iroh. “I did not see them interact for longer than a moment. As for the first, he made it very clear to me that he worships the ground his mother walks on. Like I told you, he is just like she was as a child, as loyal to her as she once was to Ozai. But he will not be turned on her as easily as she has turned on him: Azula values her son as Ozai never valued either of you, and she has made sure that Prince Aziru knows that. And as an extra precaution, she has ensured that the Yumiya boy, his bodyguard, is there to remind him of all that she has taught him when she is not, so he will never question it too deeply.”

“Yumiya? You mean Major Nikutai’s little brother?”

“Though they are about as brotherly as Ozai and I are, yes. Agni, what a job Azula’s done with him. She took that little lost pup, and trained him into a guard dog that growls and snaps at anyone who dares suggest that his master is anything less than perfect. And she keeps him at her son’s side at all times, so he learns to act the same way.” Iroh gives a frustrated huff. “I will give her this: she is much smarter than her father could ever hope to be.”

“For once, I wish you weren’t right,” Zuko agrees. “But, what exactly did the boy say? What does he think of us?” _Of me?_

“To be very blunt, he hates us with a fiery passion, because he believes we are all terrible people. Nothing would please him more than to see all of us die. He called you a traitor and a usurper, and insisted that you stole the throne from his mother and that you are hurting our people by trying to make peace through surrender and reparations instead of conquest. And he seems dead-set on dethroning you, returning his mother to power, and throwing the world back into perpetual battle until the Fire Nation emerges as the definite victor. Quite the little war hound, I’d say.”

Zuko, stunned, does not respond at first. Then, he sighs deeply, resting his head (which was beginning to throb) in one hand. “Please tell me that there’s a silver lining to this. A little one, at least.”

“Actually, there may be, although it comes with its own downsides,” Iroh admits, and Zuko perks back up, not having actually expected a positive answer. “For all that he is driven by hateful, vengeful feelings - both his mother’s and his own - Prince Aziru does seem to have something of a considerate streak to him. He seemed very concerned about the damage that he thinks you are doing to our people, almost as concerned as he was about how you apparently hurt his mother. It makes him even more dangerous if you think about it, since he is so firmly convinced that he is the righteous one, but part of the reason that he wants you off the throne so badly is because he thinks that as the official crown prince and later Fire Lord, he can protect them better than you can.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“His exact words were, ‘A prince lives for his people. His only concern should be their well-being. That is the purpose of those born into the royal family. And Uncle hasn’t done that at all.’ I doubt that is something Azula would have taught him. Like I said, he’s mature for his age.”

While impressed at the boy’s apparent eloquence, one particular details sticks out to Zuko. “He calls me Uncle, then? Not just ‘that traitor,’ or something like that?”

“No, he acknowledges all of us as his family. He called me ‘great-uncle’ very respectfully, and refers to you and your wife as Uncle Zuko and Aunt Mai. While I suppose this does distinguish him from Azula, who calls all of us by our first names, and Yumiya, who had an annoying habit of just calling me ‘old man,’ just because Prince Aziru is polite about it does not mean he hates us any less, you understand. And just because he cares for the Fire Nation’s people does not mean he cares anything for the rest of the world.” Iroh speaks slowly and firmly to make sure his point gets through the younger man’s head. “You cannot expect Azula’s child to act or to think the way you do. I know you are hoping to turn him to our side, preferably while he is still a malleable child, but I would advise you to give that up.”

Now, Zuko respects his uncle’s advice very much, and has learned to listen to it much more carefully than he did as a teenager. But that _really_ rubs him the wrong way. “And how can you be so certain? From one interaction with him? I can’t accept that!” he says, with just a bit more hostility than he had intended. Iroh is silent, looking at him expectantly, so he goes on: “It’s not as if bad blood makes it impossible to change as a person - I mean, look at me! I’m Ozai’s son, and nothing like him! But that’s only because I had people like you who didn’t give up on me even when I deserved it, who were willing to guide me and keep me on the right path until I became a better person and stayed that way. I...I may have screwed up with Azula...But even so, there’s no reason why I can’t try to do for Aziru what you did for me, if I ever get the chance.”

“So you see yourself in this boy?”

“Yes, I do,” Zuko says, steely finality in his voice. “If there was good in me, then there’s good in him too. If we ever get another opportunity to get him to see things the right way, we have to take it.”

“Such opportunities will be few and far between, if they appear at all,” Iroh comments. “But if you are so adamant, then I will not try to convince you otherwise.”  
“I would appreciate that very much, Uncle.”

“But I must warn you one last time, do not get your hopes too high,” he can’t help but say. He pauses, and when he next speaks, the familiar tone of false nonchalance immediately puts Zuko on guard. “You know, when I looked at Prince Aziru closely, I could not help but be reminded of the old saying that over time, a dog will begin to look like its master.”

“You’re saying the kid is like a _dog?”_ Zuko says, somewhat insulted on his nephew’s behalf.

Iroh shrugs. “Perhaps the metaphor is muddled slightly by the fact that they are mother and child, and are supposed to look at least a little alike. But it really is remarkable how very closely they resemble each other. He really does look like a miniature version of her, with her hair, her face, even her smirk. It seems as if every part of him has come from her...”

_Except?_ Zuko has to make an effort not to breathe too quickly nor to hold his breath in anticipation. _What does he think? Does he know?! What part could have been a giveaway - No, it doesn’t have to be anything to do with me, don’t jump to conclusions -_

“Except for those eyes of his.” 

_Agni damn it._

“Prince Aziru has larger and far brighter eyes than his mother’s. Hers were always narrower, and a more amber color, while his are as gold as precious coins. Rather like Ozai’s.” Iroh straightens up, and looks his nephew directly in the eyes. “Or like yours.”

_You are not nervous. You are calm, unaffected. He cannot condemn you. The eyes, that’s no proof at all. There is no proof. There is no proof._ “That is interesting. Inconsequential, though.” Zuko, wanting nothing more at the moment than to get out of these dangerous waters his uncle has sailed the conversation into, stands and starts to leave. “Excuse me, Uncle. You’ve given me new information that could be important, and I’d like to think over what you told me by myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Zuko.” He stops in the middle of the doorway, one foot out in the hall. Though he doesn’t turn around just yet, he still arranges his features into a blank slate to rival his wife’s. “You don’t have any other opinion on this matter? That is quite unlike you.”

A quick but intense flash of fury runs through Zuko. He will not be baited like this, especially not by his own uncle. He glares over his shoulder at Iroh, forcing himself to hold eye contact. “If you’ve got something to say, then say it, Uncle,” he hisses.

For a few tense moments that feel like hours to Zuko, silence hangs in the air between them, as does the unspoken question in both of their minds: _Did you father your sister’s child?_

He breaks that silence before Iroh can, more afraid that he cares to admit of that question actually being spoken aloud. “Very well, then. I’ll see you later.”

Zuko strides off, back straight and head high, without another word. As soon as he is out of sight, Iroh sighs deeply again, feeling all of a sudden very tired and weary. He does not like to think poorly of his dear nephew, but...

“If it’s not one problem with your children, it’s another, isn’t it, Ursa?”

The princess makes no more noise than a cat when she jumps down from the rafters, lighting on the floor just behind Iroh’s chair. “You really do need to tell me how you always know I’m there,” she says, walking around to take her son’s abandoned seat. The traditional black stealth suit she wears does not look nearly as out of place on her as Zuko insists it is. “The other side of my family tends to get testy at the prospect of an outsider outwitting us.”

Iroh smiles. “I am not nearly as well-versed in the ways of professional assassins as the Yuudoku clan would believe. I merely know my sister-in-law. Thank you again for accompanying me today; I would not have felt half as safe in that tigerwolves’ den without you there watching my back.”

“You’re welcome, and thank _you_ for not telling Zuko. Honestly, I don’t know why he keeps trying to shield me even after finding out what I’m actually capable of. I could be of much more use than any of his spies if he’d just have a little faith in me. And I wouldn’t have had to hide up there now if I thought he would be anywhere near as open with me in the room as he was with only you there.”

“Do not take it too personally. He is merely fearful of losing his mother a second time. He will come around sooner or later,” Iroh assures her. “So, what did you think of your young grandson? I know part of the reason you came along was because you wanted to see him.”

Ursa nods, looking thoughtful. “Aziru is an interesting boy, as you said. But I think you’re judging him too harshly, Iroh. You act as if he’s a bloodthirsty brat that just wants to fight and kill for the sake of it, and I don’t think that’s how he acted at all. Zuko’s not wrong to say that there is something of him in there: at his core, Aziru is a nine-year-old child who loves his mother very much, and only wants to keep them both safe and happy. Just like Zuko was before I left.”

“And just like Azula was attached to Ozai for fourteen years,” Iroh counters. “I stand by what I said before. Do not think I would not be overjoyed to think that he too could be taught better, like Zuko was. But Azula has learned well from Ozai’s mistakes, and she will make absolutely sure that her son is unfailingly loyal to her. And while she does this, she will turn him into a weapon to be used against us. He will grow up to be as dangerous as she is.”

“You talk as if he’s a bomb about to go off,” Ursa remarks, raising her eyebrows critically. “Don’t. I made the mistake of treating Azula that way, and look what’s happened to her. This time we need to remember that he’s still very young, and we can’t be so resigned to the idea that there’s no hope for him. Both you and Zuko were able to become more than what your parents wanted you to be. Is there any reason that Aziru can’t change too?”

“...I have _given_ my reasons. I suppose I won’t be able to convince any of my relatives of anything,” Iroh surrenders, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes or throw his hands up in frustration. He promptly changes the subject, though what he has in mind isn’t exactly what he wants to be discussing. “But you are correct about his similarities to Zuko. And I cannot help but wonder...whether it comes from a closer relation than uncle and nephew.”

“Just come out and say it, Iroh,” Ursa says, her voice suddenly sharp. “I personally made certain there’s no one else around here, so we can speak freely. You think Zuko is his father.”

He does, and wishes he didn’t. He cannot meet her eyes as he says, “I do not like to believe it. However, there are certain things that point in that direction. As you heard, Prince Aziru would not tell me exactly when he was born, partially because Yumiya would not let him - “

 

“He’s a month younger than Izuna,” Ursa cuts in. At the look of surprise on Iroh’s face, she explains: “I don’t know if you were aware, but I wasn’t the only one hiding and listening in on you three. Azula was there as well. After you left, I stayed behind, and watched her talk to the boys about what they just did. Aziru was curious, he asked her about it, and that’s what she said. I don’t want to believe it, either...but having an exact time of birth does make your theory more credible, as much as it turns my stomach to say it. Do you remember how Zuko was acting strangely around that time?”

Iroh nods. It had been almost ten years ago, but he still remembers how his nephew had become suddenly so withdrawn, only half-involved in any conversation, constantly getting lost in thought, and often looking faintly sick. “We chalked it up to his being overly nervous about impending fatherhood, and he agreed with us. It was close enough to Izuna’s birth, and you know how paranoid he is about turning out like Ozai after all; we had no reason to disbelieve him.”

“Well, if you’re right, then it _was_ technically true.”

“I do not think that this is anything to be joking about, Ursa. What if we are right?”

Ursa hesitates, then says carefully, “It most likely isn’t true. And I’m not saying that just because the idea repulses me, or because it would turn out very badly for all three of them if it is. It just doesn’t make much sense. Zuko and Azula have resented each other since they were children. Perhaps they have both changed since then, but surely not enough that they would...” She pauses, finding the thought of vocalizing it abhorrent. “There’s no way. They’re just not that kind of people. And adding to that, there’s no _reason_ why Azula would want Zuko to be her child’s father. Obviously she would need _someone,_ seeing as Taiyang can’t exactly do that job, but Zuko is the absolute last man she would logically pick. She thinks of him as cowardly and weak, and she would want a strong sire to make a strong heir.”

“That does make more sense,” Iroh admits. “And sharing traits with an uncle does not necessarily mean what I fear it means for them. They are still family, after all; even Prince Aziru said that it was only natural for them to have some resemblance.” These weak assurances might satisfy Ursa, Iroh thinks wearily, but he can’t talk himself out of this one. “But considering all the circumstances,” he begins cautiously, knowing that this particular solution had been met with violent opposition the one time he had proposed it. “Perhaps the best thing to do, for Zuko and for all the rest of us, would be to deal with this problem before it has the chance to become a problem, so to speak.”

Ursa, realizing immediately what he means, looks at him as if he’s just shot lightning at her. “Iroh, _no._ I thought we made this perfectly clear nine years ago: if that boy dies before reaching adulthood, it will _not_ be by our hands!”

“Trust me, it is the last thing I want to be considering,” Iroh starts placatingly. And it’s true - the thought of having even more innocent blood on his hands makes him want to vomit. But if it will protect Zuko, and the part of his family he still considers family, then it may be inevitable. “But we must admit that it would be better for us all if Prince Aziru did not exist. Without him, Azula would have no heir, and Izuna’s status as crown princess would - “

_“Stop. Right now.”_ A lesser man than him would have cowered at the barely restrained, white-hot fury in Ursa’s voice. “He’s a _child,_ Iroh, a little boy. He’s younger than Zuko was when Azulon ordered his death. I was under the impression that you and Zuko had both resolved not to stoop to the level of your fathers. Was I wrong?”

Iroh is smart enough to know that this is an argument he will not win and probably shouldn’t have started, but he can’t resist one more comment: “All I am saying is, whether my theory is correct or not, this boy has the potential to be as dangerous as his mother, if not more. And if he does, then he could very well grow up to ruin this family. Do you really want that to happen, knowing that making a different choice now could have prevented it all?”

“If I make the wrong choice now, then I will simply have to live with the consequences. But even the royal family’s assassins have limits. Regardless of who his mother is or what she’s done, Aziru is an innocent boy who has done nothing to deserve death.”

_Yet,_ Iroh thinks.

“And in any case...I couldn’t do that to Azula.” The anger in Ursa’s eyes is briefly overshadowed by sorrow, and she looks down, away from her brother-in-law. “I did enough to her already. Always looking at her and only seeing her father, trying to keep her from being like him and only driving her closer to him, without even realizing what I was doing. You saw how it made her think of herself, how it made her act. I will not let this child die because we repeated the same mistakes with him, and I _cannot_ rob my daughter of her only son. That’s what I killed Azulon for trying to do, after all, and I’d like to think I’m not a complete hypocrite. ” She turns another severe glare onto Iroh. “And you of all people should know how devastating a pain the loss of a child is. I can’t believe you would suggest dealing that same pain out to your own relative.”

Iroh grits his teeth, hating to admit that she has a point. “You strike a low blow, Ursa.”

“It was intentional,” she retorts. “From the information I have, both from the couple spies we’ve been able to sneak into that fortress and from my own observations, I think that if Azula loves anything, anything at all besides herself, she loves her son. So, considering how close they seem to be...and considering the tenuous state she was in when Taiyang broke her out of the mental facility...” She looks away again, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I do not think it would be much of a stretch to say that Aziru could be her strongest, or worse, her last link to her sanity. Destroying that link would destroy her too, mentally and emotionally. And maybe that would win the war, but I can’t let that happen to my daughter, no matter what she’s become.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and Iroh can’t quite see her face, but she sounds close to tears. “I just...I can’t.”

_Oh, demons take me._ The pain in her voice is palpable enough that Iroh regrets ever having the idea. “All right,” he says soothingly. “I promise I won’t bring it up again. And I won’t act on it unless you all decide to change your minds.”

“I will hold you to that, Iroh,” Ursa warns. “Barring my father, I am the highest ranking member of the Yuudoku clan, and to them, my authority is greater than even Zuko’s. If you approach any of them asking for their help, they will know to come to me first for confirmation, and refuse you if I tell them to.”

“I am fully aware of that. As I said, I won’t bring up that option again. But at least answer me this, Ursa: What if we never get an opportunity to turn the boy around - which I think is the most probable outcome - and he really does grow up to pose a serious threat? And what if I really am correct about the identity of his father, far-fetched as the theory may be? If we don’t do something now, what are we going to do then?”

“I...” For a moment, his younger sister-in-law seems just as old and weary as he is. “I don’t know, Iroh. I just don’t know. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, I suppose. But as for that _theory_ of yours, just to be safe, we should not bring it up again, not even amongst ourselves.”

“At the very least, we cannot suggest our suspicions to anyone else.”

“Exactly. Because whether you’re right, or whether it turns out you’re wrong - which _I_ think is the most probable outcome - putting that thought in anyone else’s head could be a disaster for Zuko, Azula, and Aziru. You know as well as I do: this idea of yours is _never_ to get out.”

“Agreed. I will refrain from asking Zuko about it any more, as well. Though I do wonder...” Iroh says thoughtfully. “What exactly does he plan to do about this?”

~0~

_Calm down. Damn it, calm down. It’s all right. You can make it all right. You can fix this -_

_No! No, you can’t! This is something you can’t make right!_

Zuko struggles to control the tempestuous thoughts roiling in his head and keep himself looking calm and untroubled. It’s the sort of mask, he has learned, that every member of the royal family must learn to perfect if they want to survive in their own court. He is grateful to have mastered it so early on after taking the crown: the last thing he needs is to be given away by a guilty face, for anyone else to suspect what really happened ten years ago.

_For people to see you as you really are, oh virtuous Fire Lord?_

He clenches his teeth, fighting back the urge to scream. Part of him wishes that this could all just go away, that he could put everything out of his mind that has to do with his sister and his nephew - his son. Oh, of course there’s the faint, feeble hope that he is not. Azula could have just been using him for her own sick pleasure that night - 

_(But don’t forget, you are just as bad,_ his mind reminds him, _it wasn’t as if you tried to stop her. Or_ wanted _her to stop. She hunted you down, she tempted you, and the wrongness of it turned your stomach, but you barely tried to fight it. You were compliant as a doll in her hands, weren’t you? Have you really tried to forget the feeling of her hands on your skin, of her lips on yours, of yourself inside her?)_

\- and taken some more suitable man to actually sire her child. But he knows he can’t hang on to that hope. The timing matches up too perfectly, and now he finds that the boy has his eyes. Azula must offer daily praise to all the spirits, he thinks bitterly, that that’s the only physical resemblance between them. The thought crosses his mind that he should too. It is in neither of their interests to have anyone guess at the truth; he never expected _that_ to be the thing the two of them ended up seeing eye to eye on. At least he can rely on her to guard his darkest secret as well as he himself does.

_She’s had this all planned out, right from the beginning, I’ll bet. She knows exactly what she’s doing: raising the son you gave her to kill you. Now, what are you going to do about it?_

The second his mind dredges up the memory of the meeting they - Mai, Ty Lee, his mother, his uncle, and himself - had had all those years ago to discuss how they were going to deal with Azula’s new heir, and of his uncle’s quiet, grave suggestion _(“With the sort of mother he has, there will be pain in that child’s life. And Azula will use him to bring pain into our lives as well, if she can. Perhaps it would be best for all involved if we simply...ended that life before any of that can happen.”)_ , he is immediately furious at himself for it. _No. No._ He has done awful things in his life, however his family might want to sugarcoat them or brush them under the rug, but he will never stoop that low.

_Your father had his bastards killed,_ Zuko reminds himself, remembering the utter horror he had felt, and still feels, at reading those particular private records of the previous Fire Lord. After his wife had disappeared, Ozai had been quick to seek pleasure from other women, and had not been content to stick with the palace’s specially altered courtesans. When he had a more common woman, he would have his spies keep tabs on her. And if they reported that she had had a child that resembled him at all, then he called one of his assassins to quietly get rid of them both, to avoid sullying their bloodline. It hadn’t happened all too often, but often enough. Zuko gives his head a hard shake, to clear those nauseating thoughts away. _But you are not your father._

He knows that it would be the pragmatic choice, and he would not be the only one considering it: in addition to the attempts on his life and on Mai’s, there had been far too many assassins going after Izuna and Shizen in the past ten years. Some of them had proudly told him that they were supporting Azula and clearing the way for the true heir to the throne, but many of the others had claimed no allegiance, or had been secretive about their loyalties. He is still trying to puzzle that one out; none of them would have anything to gain personally by killing a member of the royal family, and the psychiatric evaluations he’d called Dr. Minoru in to perform proved that all but a couple of them were of sound mind. It was obvious that they were either lying or doing this to aid somebody else, someone more powerful, but if not Azula, then who? Adding to that, he knows that it is entirely possible that Azula is dealing with the same thing, and he wonders how many assassins she has had to protect her son from, and if she tries to keep it from him the way he keeps it from his children to avoid frightening them.

However many there have been, Zuko is determined not to be one of them. His decision now is the same as it had been nine years ago: he will not make a move against the boy, outside of a fair fight. And he wouldn’t be old enough to actively serve as his mother’s soldier for at least five years. So he can shunt aside the fear of actually facing him that way for now, and focus on what’s most important at the moment.

_Coward,_ laughs the little voice at the back of his head (whether it reminds him more of his father or his sister he has yet to decide). _Are you trying to be the honorable one, even after what you’ve done? Would you be trying so hard to avoid killing this boy if he wasn’t your son?_

If he’s being perfectly honest with himself, he doesn’t know the answer to that. But he can’t waste time thinking about what he’d do if things were different, when his attention is sorely needed elsewhere. He is certain that sticking to his morals is not cowardly, but he won’t deny that as much as the connection between himself and Aziru should be meaningless to him, it is not as easily forgotten as he would like it to be and is still probably influencing his decisions. But he can train himself out of that, surely. He cannot focus on it too much and let it cloud his mind. And as he finds himself walking past a window overlooking the courtyard, Zuko glances down and gets a vivid reminder of what he _should_ be focused on.

Mai, Izuna, and Shizen are all down there, in the grass between the tree and the turtleduck pond, and Zuko pauses there to watch them through the glass. Shizen sits close by his mother, the wooden kusarigama he’ll soon be ready to trade in for a real one laid neatly in front of him, as he watches her show him with her own blades how to properly take care of a metal weapon. Shizen loves his father dearly, he can be sure of that, but as a nonbender he can’t learn from him in the same way that Izuna does. So instead, he is determined to emulate his mother and master weapons just the way she has. In Zuko’s opinion, Mai had looked happier than she had on their wedding day when their son had made that desire known to her. Not that he blames her: aside from being a huge compliment, it was just so _cute._

Next to them, watched warily from the other side of the pond by the turtleducks, Izuna is earnestly practicing her newest firebending form - sans the actual fire, however; her parents had warned her against bending anywhere the fire might catch and grow beyond her control. Not for the first time, Zuko reflects that she took after him as much as Shizen took after Mai, and warmth washes over him. She had been as excited to move up to the advanced set as he had been to start teaching it to her, and that undiminished excitement brightens her eyes and face as she leaps and kicks and strikes at the air. Every time he watches her and her brother throwing themselves into their respective discipline this way, pushing themselves to excel and more often than not succeeding, one thought always runs through Zuko’s mind: _I am so proud of you._

Just then, Izuna catches sight of her father in the nearby window. Her face splits into a wide grin, and she stops in the middle of her kata to wave at him, a gesture he returns. Her mother and brother notice and turn to see him too, and Shizen immediately hops to his feet, picking up his kusarigama and demonstrating the latest form he’s learned, unwilling to let him only see Izuna’s progress. Zuko had been somewhat concerned at first by the boy’s determination to never be outdone by his older sister, not wanting his son to go through the same thing that he had as a child: constantly trying so hard to catch up and always falling behind, and spending every day feeling painfully inferior. 

But he knows by now that he need not worry about that. Said sister is a constantly encouraging, positive influence on her brother, who wants him to rise to her level as much as he does. She sees him not as competition for their parents’ affection or as a rival to be kept down, but as a friend to be loved and protected. Zuko takes the utmost pride in both of his children, and will go out of his way to make sure they know that. Sometimes, he looks at the two of them, and thinks that this is what his own relationship with his sister should have been like.

Both children are smiling, knowing they did well and looking at their father expectantly. He gives them a thumbs-up and a smile of his own, and then turns his eyes to his wife. Mai looks as content as she always does whenever she’s able to spend some time with their children (Zuko isn’t the only one who strives to be better than their parents), and she gestures towards them in a silent question: _You want to come down and join us?_

He nods eagerly and walks faster towards the stairs; after the report he’s just gotten from his uncle, he needs the time with his family, however short, to help him get his head on straight. Of course, he will apply the same moral principles he does to all of his opponents to Azula and Aziru as well, and he refuses to do anything that his father would do. But in light of all those he is responsible for ruling and protecting, he knows he can spare no sentimentality. The best thing to do, he tentatively decides, is to force the fact that he has a third child, and the fact that this child is his sister’s, as far to the back of his mind as possible. He has sinned, undeniably, but surely he can move past this crime too. 

Besides, no one can possibly know the truth for certain, nor can anyone prove it. Only his uncle has shown any suspicion, and Iroh loves him too much to let on to anyone but him. He’d done a perfectly good job of explaining away his panicked behavior years ago, and so long as he never acts as if he’s got something to hide, he’ll be fine. Everyone will be fine. If Azula can do it, then he certainly can too, and their shameful secret can stay buried forever.

_I wonder if Aziru knows. I wonder if she’s taught him to keep the secret too._

It is an interesting question, but Zuko knows he must be careful not to dwell too heavily on it. He pities this boy, and he will not pass up a chance to make him an ally should one present itself, but his true family must always take precedence. That’s obvious enough.

So he steps out into the sun to greet the three people he holds most dear, and keeps any lingering thoughts of the driven and vengeful young boy islands away who will one day come for him, of his eyes staring out of his sister’s face, safely out of his mind.

**~0~**


End file.
